The Naked Truth (26 page)

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Authors: Natasha Rostova

BOOK: The Naked Truth
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‘Did I manage to get out?’
Her eyebrows drew together. She shook her head. ‘No. The desert has pockets of quicksand. You stepped into one and disappeared for ever.’
She looked so concerned that Logan almost felt guilty.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If that dream means anything, then it has to do with my workload.’
Abiona shook her head. ‘No. It has to do with this dark force in your life. You must tell me what is wrong, Logan. I am worried for both you and Callie.’
Logan reminded himself that he was the one who had come here. Abiona hadn’t sought him out to tell him about her dream.
‘There’s a woman,’ he admitted. ‘She wants me to invest in some racket of hers and has threatened to ruin me if I don’t.’
‘And can she do that?’
‘Yes, she probably can.’
‘I see.’ Abiona went to a cabinet and removed several candles, a clay pot and two small dolls. ‘Does Callie know?’
‘No. I don’t want her to.’
She gave him a curious look. ‘No? Why not?’
Logan shrugged even as a rush of shame rose in him. ‘She doesn’t need to know.’
‘She’s your wife. Knowing Callie, I’m sure she would want to know.’
‘It really doesn’t concern her,’ Logan said. ‘I knew this woman fifteen years ago. I’d thought she was out of my life.’
‘Ah, but she is back now, yes?’ Abiona nodded. ‘Dark forces do not go gently into the night. What is her name?’
‘Elenore Lawrence.’
She handed him a piece of lined paper and a pencil. ‘Please write her name ten times on one side of this paper and eleven times on the other.’
Logan reminded himself he had nothing to lose. And he sure as hell hadn’t come up with any of his own ideas on how to handle Elenore. He sat down and began writing her name, disliking even the sight of the words on paper.
‘Has this woman blackmailed you before?’ Abiona asked.
‘No.’
‘But you had a relationship in the past. Not a good one, either.’
‘No, not a good one.’
‘Did she blackmail you then?’
‘No.’ Logan turned the paper over and tried to think of how to put his and Elenore’s past relationship into words. ‘She did have control, though.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ Abiona murmured. She placed the items in a basket and took the paper from him. ‘Come. We will go to the cemetery.’
‘The cemetery,’ Logan repeated.
She nodded, her expression very serious. ‘There are different levels on which others can harm you,’ she explained. ‘For example, if you are suffering from ‘eyes’, this means that too many people are thinking about you and this attention throws you off balance. With you, it is more serious. People have done work against you, Logan, and I don’t mean Callie. She wanted to be protected from you, but she would never harm you wilfully. Others, however, are deliberately trying to hurt you. This could conceivably harm Callie as well.’
‘I can’t deny that,’ Logan admitted. ‘But why the cemetery?’
Abiona stood and walked to the door. ‘The cemetery is where Baron Samdi resides. He is the most powerful of all the gods. We will call upon him for help.’
Logan shook his head. ‘Look, I appreciate this, but you should know that I really don’t believe any of this can help.’
As they stepped on to the street, Abiona looked at him with her liquid brown eyes. ‘You are not a weak man, Logan. And you must put forth much strength in order for the
loas
to assist you. How badly do you want this woman out of your life?’
‘With everything I have.’
‘Then use that.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Please, help me. I am terribly worried for both you and Callie.’
She appeared so sincere that Logan was ashamed of his scepticism. Abiona was such a lovely woman. Moreover, she had an incredibly honest, kind soul that made her the exact opposite of Elenore Lawrence. He nodded.
‘All right. I’ll do what I can.’
Abiona gave him a warm smile that went straight to his blood. He’d never met a woman who was a combination of such elegance and goodness. He’d known plenty of elegant woman, but they all had a hard edge to them that made them mildly unpleasant. By contrast, Abiona was all softness and gentle curves.
She kept her hand on his arm as they entered the gates of Laurel Grove Cemetery. Tombstones lay in symmetrical rows like a chessboard, some of them so old that the lettering had started to fade. Flowers in various stages of life sprouted on some of the graves. Logan’s gaze went towards one corner of the cemetery.
‘You have a loved one buried here?’ Abiona asked.
Damn, she was perceptive. ‘My father,’ he admitted.
‘Would you like to visit him first?’ She stopped to fill her clay pot with water from a tap.
‘Not particularly. I haven’t visited his grave in years.’
A flash of unhappiness appeared in her eyes. ‘No? Why not?’
Logan shrugged. Truth be told, he’d never been able to get rid of the bitterness towards his father, nor to stop blaming him for everything that had happened.
‘You did not have a good relationship with him?’ Abiona asked. She paused underneath an oak tree and knelt on the grass. With slow movements that drew Logan’s gaze to her, she began setting out the items in her basket.
‘No, not really.’
Abiona shook her head. She looked incredibly sad. ‘Logan, I am very sorry for you. Your relationships are filled with unhappiness.’
‘Not all of them,’ Logan amended. ‘Well, I used to think my marriage wasn’t.’
She blinked at him. ‘You must realise now that Callie was unhappy. If one partner in a marriage is unhappy, then how can the relationship be a good one?’
Logan struggled against a rush of irritation. ‘And how can a relationship get repaired when one partner isn’t even around?’
‘Perhaps you must learn to listen first.’ She struck a match and lit the votive candles, then placed the two dolls in front of them. She glanced up at the stratified sky, the layers of red and orange that darkened with each passing second. ‘This is a good night. The spirit of Papa Ghede lives in the cemetery as well. It is the place where the living world intersects with the world of the dead. The crossroads.’
‘So, how can this help me?’
‘By invoking the most powerful of spirits.’ She pointed to an old, dilapidated tombstone. ‘According to the dates, that is the grave of the first male buried in this cemetery. We will ask of Baron Samdi that he send a
mò
to protect you. A
mò
is a very strong spirit of the dead.’
A thought suddenly occurred to Logan. ‘Did you bring Callie here for a protection spirit?’
Abiona’s eyes widened. ‘Heavens, no, Logan. You cannot use cemetery rituals to engage family members against each other. Baron Samdi does not look upon that kindly. As it stands, he might not be willing to help you now since he believes that families should remain united.’
Not wanting to disrespect her, Logan merely nodded and continued watching. Abiona placed her hands on each doll and began murmuring incantations, then she bound the dolls back-to-back. She made the sign of the cross and lit a candle, then picked up the paper with Elenore’s name written on it and the clay pot. She stood and closed her eyes, her lips moving with words of prayer as she lifted both items towards all four corners of the cemetery. Logan couldn’t help being mildly captivated by the sincerity and utter grace in each gesture. Her entire body flowed with her movements, almost as if she were being guided by a force beyond herself.
Abiona saluted each of the four corners again before she put the pot down and ripped the paper in half twice. She handed the torn pieces to Logan.
‘Tear them again three times and tell Baron Samdi what you want.’
She looked so completely earnest that Logan didn’t have the heart to let her down. Feeling slightly foolish, he tore the papers again. ‘I want Elenore Lawrence out of my life.’
‘Say it again and mean it.’
‘I want Elenore Lawrence out of my life for ever.’ He ripped the papers and handed them back to her.
Abiona picked up another pot and placed the papers at the bottom. She then put a penny in, along with several different herbs and powders. She lit another candle and dropped it into the pot. The paper and herbs burst into flames. She handed the pot to Logan.
‘You must salute the four directions of the crossroads. Come. I will do it with you.’ She stood and slipped her arm around his waist, guiding him towards each of the four corners again. Words spilled from her lips in a never-ending stream; Haitian Creole prayers that sounded both musical and haunting. Once they were finished, she knelt and took a small spade from her basket.
She held it out to Logan. ‘Dig a small hole underneath the tree, then smash the pot with your foot.’
Logan dug the hole and stamped on the pot, crushing it underneath his heel. At Abiona’s instruction, he buried the remnants of the pot and the ashes underneath the tree. She watched him, her eyes glowing.
‘Good. When we return to my home, I will give you a lamp to hang outside your house. This will help prevent evil from entering.’ She collected her basket and made the sign of the cross again. ‘There is a cemetery in Port-au-Prince where a large cross dedicated to Baron Samdi resides. Many people visit to make offerings and prayers. I am visiting Haiti next month, and I will make another prayer for you and Callie.’
‘I appreciate that. Thank you.’
They fell silent as they watched the remaining candles burn underneath the oak. Logan turned his gaze to Abiona. In the last embers of day, he realised again just how beautiful she was. Candlelight glowed on her skin, making it look like burnished teak. She smiled at him and held out her hand. Logan took it. Long, tapered fingers and a touch that was whisper-gentle. He remembered watching her dance at the voodoo ceremony the night before. Her body had moved with such sensual, frenzied undulations that even he had been half convinced that she was actually possessed by a spirit.
He helped her to her feet, then bent to collect the remaining candles.
‘No, leave them,’ she said. ‘We will return.’
‘I don’t think –’
She took his arm. ‘Come. We are going to visit your father.’
Logan stilled. ‘I’d rather not.’
‘You must honour your ancestors, Logan. They and the spirits are the ones who can help us with our problems.’
‘Actually, I handle my own problems.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Do you now? Then why do you have so many of them at the moment?’
‘Good question,’ Logan muttered. He walked with her to his father’s grave.
Abiona paused and looked at the grey marble tombstone carved in strong, block letters with the name
EDWARD WATERFORD
and the dates of his birth and death. The grave itself was also covered with a slab of grey marble. Two small, metal pots rested on each side of the tombstone. Someone had placed flowers in them, although they were beginning to turn brown.
Logan shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his father’s grave. A hint of resentment nudged at him, but for the most part he felt empty inside. Abiona shifted beside him and removed a bottle of water from her basket. Murmuring in Creole, she walked around the grave and poured water around the perimeter, then knocked three times at the head of the grave. She looked at Logan.
‘You must speak to him.’
He shook his head. He’d only go so far with this business. ‘I have nothing to say to him.’
She looked so sad that Logan almost changed his mind for her sake, but speaking to his dead father was beyond his limits.
‘Logan, perhaps your father can help you now.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘He might believe that he owes you for whatever wrongs he has committed.’
‘He can believe whatever he wants. I have nothing to say to him. He’s dead.’
‘Then I will speak to him for you.’ Abiona knocked again at the grave and began murmuring a prayer for Edward to assist Logan in his current crisis. When she had finished, she looked at him again. ‘Does Callie visit him?’
‘Not that I know of. She never knew him.’
Abiona pointed to the withering flowers. ‘Who leaves offerings, then?’
Logan shrugged. He glanced at the sky, which had become covered with a layer of black dotted with silver stars. ‘It’s getting late. I’ve taken up enough of your time.’
Abiona still looked sad, but they returned to the oak tree, where the votive candle continued to burn.
‘I am sorry for you, Logan,’ she said. ‘If you cannot make peace with the dead, then how are you to live?’
Logan didn’t even know how to respond to her question. They looked at each other for a moment before she lifted her hand and placed it against his cheek. Her touch was like cotton. His gaze slipped down to her full lips as an increasing desire for her invaded his blood. He didn’t buy the whole concept of voodoo or spells, but he was entranced by the sincerity and purity of Abiona’s devotion. He wondered what it was like to believe in something so wholly that there was no room for questioning.

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